Thousand-Yard Stare
by crunchatizeme
Summary: "Nothing's wrong, I guess," Bucky replied. "Just…it's hard to sleep these days. I find myself thinking about…y'know." He laughed softly. "Times like this make me wish there was a woman around to warm up my bed, make me forget, but at the same time I'm glad there's not. Wouldn't be fair to her."


Notes: Part one of two. First part takes place in the 40's, shortly after Steve rescues Bucky and the 107th. Part 2 takes place in the present day, after the events of The Winter Soldier. Enjoy!

**Thousand-Yard Stare**

_The __**thousand-yard stare**__ or __**two-thousand-yard stare**__ is a phrase coined to describe the limp, blank, unfocused gaze of a battle-weary __soldier…_

**Part I**

Steve jogged across the rain-sodden ground, combat boots sloshing through the puddles as he hurried towards his tent. He squinted through the sheets of rain and gloomy twilight at the strung up canvas, ducking inside the flap with a sigh of relief.

Bucky sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag in the far side of the tent, making a face as the blonde man shook out his wet hair, droplets flying. "Ugh," he said, though his tone was good natured. "What are you, a dog? You're going to put out the lamp."

"Just be glad you aren't the one slogging around out there with the head honchos," Steve said, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky remarked. "You're big man on campus now. Easy to forget."

Steve smiled wryly and sat on his bedroll, unlacing his boots. "Yeah," he murmured, plucking at the muddy shoelaces. "It is, isn't it?"

Cloth rustled as Bucky moved closer. "You know I don't mean it like that," he said.

"Hm?" Steve looked over his shoulder at his friend. Bucky still sported the stubble and somewhat outgrown haircut from his time in the H.Y.D.R.A., though he was substantially cleaner. His shirt was loose on his frame and nearly hung off his shoulder, exposing bruises from needles and God knew what else that had been done to him.

"Like it's a bad thing." The corner of Bucky's mouth turned up. "Just taking some getting used to, is all."

"Me too," Steve said, turning and clapping Bucky on the shoulder with a smile. Even if Bucky had meant it spitefully - and Steve believed him when he said he didn't - he could hardly blame the man. He'd been tortured and experimented on for nearly two months while he as Captain America had been touring the world like the glorified one-trick show pony he had been. He couldn't bear a grudge against his oldest and dearest friend.

Bucky returned the smile, though his face quickly fell as his gaze searched Steve's. "What?" Steve asked.

"You're doing it again," Bucky answered, frowning.

"Doing what?"

"That thing. Where you're thinking about how sorry you were that you didn't save me, save all of us, earlier, et cetera. You couldn't have known. For the millionth time, it's not your fault."

"Now how do you know that?"

"I can see the regret in your face."

"Are you sure it's not regret that I let you bunk with me?" Steve deadpanned.

They both laughed, and Bucky moved back to his own bedding. "Alright," he said. "But seriously, Steve. Don't worry your pretty head about that stuff. We're okay now. We had no chance without you, alright? Even if 107th's capture was somehow your fault, which it isn't, you've more than made up for it."

"Are you afraid of going back?"

"What. Into the facilities?"

"Yes."

"No." After a pointed look from Steve, he relented. "Maybe a little. I think all of us are, you know. Even that asshole Morita. But we all want a piece of those shit heads." Bucky's face visibly hardened. "Me especially."

Steve nodded and set his boots by the tent flap, followed by the rest of his sodden clothes. He heard Bucky make a small sound behind him as he grabbed the hem of his soaked shirt and pulled it over his head, but ignored it. He was used to the various states of surprise and awe when people saw his body - particularly people who had known him in his pre-serum days.

"So not fair," Bucky remarked as Steve tugged on a fresh tee.

"I get that a lot these days," Steve said agreeably, slipping into his sleeping bag and letting his head fall against his pillow.

Bucky watched him, his head propped up on his hand. His dog tags glinted dully in the flickering lamplight. "I'm going to have to work my ass off to even get close to that."

"You lost a lot of ground when you were captured," Steve said. "Won't take long to get your physique back."

"Yeah," he mused. "Unless I got lucky enough to be injected with the opposite of whatever _you_ got."

Steve snorted. "'Skinny Bucky' doesn't have quite the same ring to it."

"Bony Bucky."

"Bony Bucky and Skinny Steve."

"You'll never be Skinny Steve again, though."

Steve shrugged. "So far. Turn that lamp out, will you? We should get some shut eye. It's almost twenty-one hundred."

Bucky obliged, and darkness filled the tent. The only sound was the steady drumming of rain along the tent's surface. Steve stared up at the canvas, his thoughts adrift, until he found his lids slipping shut.

Later - several hours, judging by his watch - he awoke to a rustling sound. The rain had eased off to a drizzle, and rolling onto his right side, he saw Bucky sitting at the open mouth of the tent, gazing into the darkness beyond.

He furrowed his brows. "Buck?"

Bucky turned his head, looking at Steve from the corner of his eye. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I would've gone for a walk, but…" He shrugged one shoulder. "Didn't care much to get wet for no good reason."

"What's wrong?" Steve pushed the covers back as he sat up.

Bucky ducked his head. "Nothing's wrong, I guess," he replied. "Just…it's hard to sleep these days. I find myself thinking about…y'know." He laughed softly. "Times like this make me wish there was a woman around to warm up my bed, make me forget, but at the same time I'm glad there's not. Wouldn't be fair to her."

Steve's throat felt tight. "Yeah," he said. "Buck, if there's anything I can do…"

Bucky turned around, letting the tent flap close. "Did that serum give you the super powers to fight off nightmares, too? If so, then yeah, I could use your help."

In the dim interior of the tent, Steve could see the sardonic twist of his features, and it made his heart hurt. Impulsively, he reached out and hugged the other man, pulling him close - probably too close, and Steve hadn't meant to draw him against the line of his body. He almost apologized, almost made a joke about still not knowing his own strength, but Bucky relaxed in the circle of his arms, his forehead coming to rest in the curve of Steve's neck.

They sat like that on Steve's sleeping bag for a few minutes. He listened to Bucky's breath become unsteady, felt the hitching rise and fall of his back under his hands. Steve drew him even closer as the first muffled sob escaped Bucky's lips, fingers tracing the protrusion of his spine beneath his skin in soothing circles. He tried to recall a time Bucky had cried before.

"Sorry," Bucky murmured against Steve's shoulder.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Steve reassured him, arms tightening around him. "If you need to talk, you know I'll listen, Buck."

"No," Bucky said, lifting his head. To look at him, you wouldn't have known he had even cried, though his face had that creased look. "No. I don't."

Steve watched his face. "I mean, down the line."

"No. Never," Bucky insisted. "It's behind me now. It needs to stay there."

Steve almost argued that it clearly _wasn't _behind him, at least not in a temporal sense, but the look on his friend's face stopped him. "Okay," he said simply. "Whatever you need, buddy."

Bucky stood, and Steve let his arms drop into his lap as he watched the other man walk back over to his sleeping bag. Instead of getting back in, he leaned down to rekindle the kerosene lamp, then returned to sit in front of Steve. His eyes looked hollow and his face was lined with exhaustion, more pronounced in the harsh contrast of lamplight and shadow.

"You haven't slept these last few nights, have you?" Steve asked quietly, his gaze searching Bucky's. He'd been so busy with his new promotion, he realized he hadn't paid as much attention as he should've to Bucky's condition. His eyes lit on the other man's lips, somewhat chapped, noticing how they curved up slightly in the corner like a cat's. It gave him a sort of permanent smile. He marveled that he had never noticed this small detail before. He supposed he never spent much time looking at other men's lips.

"No," Bucky answered, drawing Steve out of his brief reverie. "Not really. A little."

"Not enough."

"Not enough," Bucky agreed wearily.

"Maybe a warm body would help," Steve said. "Bring your bag over here, and…" He trailed off as Bucky leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Steve's collarbone. He smiled slightly and rested his hands against sides of Bucky's neck, lacing his fingers along the nape. He pressed his lips affectionately to his hair, then rested his chin atop it. Bucky's fingers played idly along the hem of Steve's shirt.

"I love you," he said in a muffled voice.

"I love you too," Steve murmured. "You're my best friend." He gave a soft laugh. "I don't know why you picked me of all people to be your friend, but I'm grateful."

Bucky lifted his head, a strange look on his face. "What do you mean, of all people?"

Steve's hands slid to Bucky's shoulders. "You know. Scrawny kid getting beat up all the time, can't keep his mouth shut…I believe your exact words the other day were, 'too dumb not to run away from a fight.'"

"So what? What does that have anything to do with being your friend?" Bucky rolled his eyes. "Obviously I find that an admirable trait, since that comment was followed by, 'I'm following him.'"

"Well - " Steve was abruptly cut off when Bucky pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"Shut up," he muttered. "Just shut."

Steve shut up obligingly, and could only stare as Bucky withdrew his finger and leaned in, his lips pressing gently against his own.

"What…" he said when Bucky pulled away. "Buck, what was-"

"What part of 'shut up' do you not understand?" Bucky said, his voice rough. His hands reached up, fingertips skimming Steve's jaw and he kissed him again. Steve reached out hesitantly, finally letting his hands settle on Bucky's waist, but his own lips were still, unsure.

"Christ, Rogers," Bucky said in disgust, pulling away.

"What? You're the one who kissed me," Steve said defensively. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything. That's my point."

"What am I supposed to do?!" Steve demanded.

"Kiss me back, you idiot. Or have you still never kissed anyone?"

"I…" Steve couldn't even believe they were having this conversation. Or that any of this was happening at all.

"No?" Bucky was grinning.

"Why did you do that, anyway?" Steve spluttered.

Bucky's face quickly fell. "Why not?"

"Because…you know, we're both guys, and you've been with tons of girls, and I'm pretty sure _I'm_ into girls, if not in exactly in practice, and…"

"Steve," Bucky interrupted. "Who cares?"

"I care. I just got done telling you that you're my best friend. I don't want to lose you. Again."

Bucky said nothing, only fixed his steady gaze on him. Steve met his eyes just as evenly. After a moment, he lifted his hand and brushed it against Bucky's cheek, his thumb grazing the scabbed cut on his cheekbone.

"The first time I thought I lost you," Steve said, "was unbearable."

Bucky closed his eyes and turned his head into the caress. "You're not going to lose me," he murmured.

Steve's throat burned. Maybe a few months ago he could've believed that, but not now. When he had rescued Bucky and the rest of the 107th, he'd never known how bad it could get. Seeing his friend strapped to a table, muttering incoherent nonsense to himself, barely able to stand…he couldn't afford to be naive anymore. He knew that once they began this campaign in earnest, he could very, very easily lose him again. Possibly forever.

But he did know he would do anything and everything within his power to keep Bucky safe.

Bucky's hand slid over Steve's, fingers curling around his. He pressed his mouth to Steve's palm and Steve's breath escaped him in a sigh. He found his thumb trailing over Bucky's lower lip, tracing the line of his mouth to it's quirked corner.

"Steve," Bucky said. "I need you." It wasn't a manipulation, nor was it a plea.

"I'm here," Steve answered.

He drew Bucky's head in and kissed him - at first with uncertain, inexperienced lips, but he soon fell into the rhythm of Bucky's mouth. He felt the pleasure welling up within him, felt things lower tighten. He pushed loose tendrils of Bucky's hair back, tracing the planes of his face with rough fingertips. They broke the kiss, and Bucky's lips met Steve's jawline, featherlight, and trailed down the side of his neck. Steve's breath escaped him in a sigh, his hands continuing to push through Bucky's hair.

"So," he said in a wavering voice, trying to keep his tone light, "is this, uh, desire…something you've been harboring since we've been friends, or is it because now I'm…?"

Bucky's mouth stopped at Steve's collarbone, and he sat back to look at the blonde man. "Are you serious?" he asked.

"What?" Steve knew his face was flushed, that his breath was coming a little too fast.

"I don't like you because you look good," Bucky said firmly. "I like you because you're _you_. That's the whole point. I would kiss you even if you were still scrawny."

"Okay, fine," Steve said breathlessly, grabbing the collar of Bucky's shirt. "I believe you. Now come back."

Bucky ducked his head to Steve's, and this kiss was different from the tentative press of lips of before. It was intense, almost rough, and only served to further inflame the desire that Steve wasn't aware existed within him. His arms went around the other man and pulled him closer; Bucky straddled his lap, and a soft gasp escaped Steve. Bucky pulled away long enough to tug his own shirt off one handed, then their mouths came together once more, tongues sliding against each other, Bucky's hands gliding between Steve's shirt and his skin.

Steve lowered his mouth to Bucky's throat, his chest. He carefully avoided the more obvious bruises and needle marks, and his tongue found a nipple. Bucky exhaled sharply as Steve's teeth lightly grazed it. He pushed Steve's shirt off and pushed him back on the sleeping bag.

"Please," Steve whispered, though he didn't know what he was begging for. Bucky seemed to, though. He drew a path down Steve's chest and stomach with lips and tongue, stopping above the waistband of his pants.

"You sure?" Bucky murmured against his skin.

"Wait," Steve panted. "Wait, what are you going to do? Are we gonna…"

"I swear to God, if you say 'fondue' I'm going to punch you."

Steve propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at the other man. "Well, are we? How do…" His face was hot. "Are we going to do _that_?"

Bucky smacked his forehead, kneading it with his fingers. Steve realized he was laughing. "What?" he demanded.

"You," Bucky said. "You're…cute."

"What are you, my mother? Who says that about another guy?"

"I do," Bucky said, and with a decisive yank, pulled Steve's pants down. "And no," he informed Steve as he rubbed his cheek against the bulge in the front of his boxer shorts, eliciting a small sound from the blonde man. "We aren't going to do that. Not tonight." He rolled his eyes up to meet Steve's.

"Okay," Steve said hoarsely. "Then what did you have in mind?"

Bucky stroked his hand up the front of Steve's boxers, curling his fingers into the waistband, and slowly pulled down, revealing the length of him inch by inch. "You know," Bucky breathed, wrapping his fingers around him, "I'd almost feel bad about getting to you before a woman, but…not nearly bad enough." He squeezed, and Steve made a small sound, his fingers curling in his bedding.

"Holy…" he gasped as Bucky licked a line up the underside of him. "Bucky - " He didn't have the time to formulate the question, because yes, he _was_ going to do it. He shuddered like a fly-stung horse as Bucky's mouth moved rhythmically along his length, one hand running up his stomach, tracing the shape of his abs. He moaned, helpless under Bucky's ministrations, and he felt _that _pressure, the one that meant the inevitable was going to happen. "You…might want to move, I - "

Bucky moved his mouth away a second before Steve came. He seized Bucky's hand as his back arched, unable to bite back the gasp of pleasure. Bucky kissed up Steve's side as he moved back up, capturing the other man's lips with his.

"What do you think?" he murmured, drawing away.

"I think," Steve said breathlessly, "that this is probably inappropriate conduct between a captain and a sergeant."

Bucky laughed and shook his head, pressing his face into the crook of Steve's neck. "Probably so," he conceded.

Steve turned and kissed Bucky's forehead. "I'd do it again," he said. "Maybe even to you."

Bucky gave him a crooked smile. "Captain's orders?"

Steve enjoyed this playful flirting. It was suspiciously close to how they'd always interacted. "Quite possibly."

The sound of the the reveille being played on the bugle startled them both, and Steve instinctively jumped off his sleeping back, eyeing his watch. Bucky merely laid back with a groan, covering his face with his hands. "Seriously?" he muttered.

"Come on, Buck," Steve said, furiously wiping at his stomach. "We're on the move today."

"Shit," Bucky said with feeling, but he sat up. "Alright. Alright."

Steve bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he said. "I…"

"No big deal," Bucky said. "That bugle effectively erased all signs of my boner."

Steve laughed. He leaned down, his fingers stroking along Bucky's face, and kissed him. "To be continued," he promised, not knowing he would never get the chance.


End file.
